Partners and Friends
by milady dragon
Summary: Helena Wells has had an interesting life...and a very interesting partner.


Partners and Friends

Author: Milady Dragon

Disclaimer: I don't own either Torchwood or Warehouse 13, and that's truly sad.

Author's note: I wrote this is response to a challenge over on Livejournal, and it's partially in response to the Torchwood radio play "House of the Dead" and the Warehouse 13 episode, "3...2...1..." both of which featured the amazing Gareth David-Lloyd.

I do hope you all enjoy it. Thanks for reading!

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><p>Helena G. Wells pounded down the alley, the coattails of the man she was pursuing flying out just visible through the fog. Her lungs were laboring from the chase, her legs were burning, and there was the beginning of a stitch in her side but she wasn't about to let the thief escape.<p>

She and her partner had been looking for a 'curiosity' that had been categorized as an Egyptian artifact and had been on display at the British Museum. They'd just managed to break in to retrieve it…and found themselves beaten to the punch, by a thief who'd been able to get away before either of them could react. That had begun the pursuit that Helena now found herself in, with no partner in sight.

Helena mentally cursed him – not having the breath to do so out loud – and tried to put on a burst of speed in order to catch up. The man was getting farther and farther away, and she wasn't about to lose him now, not with a potentially dangerous artifact in his possession. The fog felt clammy on her overheated skin, and she knew she was going to have words with her wayward partner when this was over.

The thief was coming up on the end of the alley, and Helena was afraid she'd lose him once he reached the main road beyond. Yes, it was far too early in the morning for much traffic, but there would be enough for him to duck into and escape.

Wherever the sudden burst of speed she managed came from, Helena was glad of it as the road got closer. The thief's form gained a bit of definition in the fog, and she was thinking she might actually be able to catch up.

The man suddenly went down in front of her.

Helena tried to stop her forward momentum, and she ended up stumbling into her partner, who had obviously gotten ahead of them and had put the thief down with a well-aimed punch.

"Wooley!" she gasped, leaning on him and taking in large breaths.

William Wolcott was more than willing to let her. He'd been her partner for a couple of years, and Helena enjoyed working with the young man. Working with him had given her back her enjoyment of life, and while she would always be grateful she would never actually admit to it.

After a few seconds she pulled away, smacking him in the arm as she did so.

"What was that for?" he asked, rubbing the spot. Helena could never quite place his accent; it was British, but there was something underlying it, as if he wasn't, in fact, from England at all.

"That was for not warning me you were going to try to cut him off," she berated. "I might have saved myself from a heart attack otherwise."

Wolcott rolled his eyes. "He needed to think he was still being pursued. If he'd believed we'd given up, he might not have even come this way, and he also might have noticed me lying in wait for him."

He had a point, and Helena nodded in agreement. After all, they'd gotten their man in the end, even if she'd felt like she'd run a marathon in order to do it.

He reached down and hauled the man to his feet, propping him up against the wall. Helena used a handkerchief in order to retrieve their prize: it was a gold armband, with what looked like hieroglyphics on it. From what they'd learned of the artifact, it had once belonged to Cleopatra herself, and the ancient queen had used it to gain the favor of whatever man she'd desired.

She slipped it into her pocket, then turned to their thief. Helena got her first good look at him; he was very handsome, with a cleft chin, vibrant blue eyes, and a jaw line that would have made a stage actor proud. He was quickly rousing from the stunned state that Wolcott's blow had left him in, glancing between the two of them warily.

That was when she noticed her partner's regard of their prisoner.

He looked surprised…and something else, that finally clued Helena in on why Wolcott had never really been much for the ladies.

She stifled her smile. Helena didn't object at all; in fact, she was quite an advocate of free love, and it never had mattered to her who a person was attracted to. This just led her to a revelation about her young friend that shed light on a bit more of his personality, and she was glad to have gotten this glimpse into the normally private William Wolcott.

The thief must have noticed as well, because he leered at Wolcott. "Well," he drawled, his eyes raking up and down her partner's body, "I'd say it was nice to meet you, but these aren't the best of circumstances. How about you and me getting a drink once our issues are settled?" He spoke with an obvious American accent.

The normally unflappable Wolcott blushed, but he tightened his grip on the man's coat. "I should think you'd be more concerned about your fate, than whether I'd join you for a pint," he answered.

The man shrugged as best he could, with Wolcott holding him in place. "Nothing's going to happen to me," he answered breezily.

"You seem very sure of yourself," Helena demanded, confused by his behavior. An ordinary thief would have been acting completely different.

He smirked. "I am. And I'd like to get that trinket back that you took, thank you very much."

His attitude was making Helena mad. "There is such a thing as overconfidence, sir," she snapped. "I doubt you'd feel that way when we contact the constabulary." Not that they'd intended to; after all, the artifact would then be returned to the Museum and would be out of their reach.

It then occurred to her that this couldn't be a coincidence. That she and Wolcott had been going after the same thing as this thief. Which meant that he knew exactly what it did.

The man smiled, a brilliant glint of teeth in the fog-bound early morning light. "I doubt you'll be calling anyone since you two were up to no good, just as I was." He glanced over at Wolcott. "You can let go now, gorgeous. I'm not going anywhere."

The blush deepened, but Wolcott said nothing. Instead, he glanced over at Helena, waiting for instructions. She nodded, knowing that this person wouldn't be going anywhere without the arm band, and she felt confident that the pair of them could take him on easily.

Wolcott released his grasp on the man's coat, taking a step back. "Look," the thief said, suddenly turning serious, "you don't know what you're dealing with. That bauble is dangerous, and it needs to be dealt with properly."

Helena narrowed her eyes. "We're well aware of what it is, Mister…"

The man leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "It's Captain actually…Captain Jack Harkness. And I'm sorry, but I didn't get your names, and I usually like to know who wants to rough me up."

She didn't see any harm in introductions. "Helena Wells," she answered. She motioned toward her friend. "And my partner, William Wolcott."

Wolcott nodded in the captain's direction, acknowledging the introduction.

Harkness was no longer grinning. "I see. I should have expected Warehouse 12 to send two of its best agents to be along at some point."

Helena froze. Now, this was completely unexpected, that this man should know who they are, let alone that they sometimes 'consulted' with Warehouse 12. Her partner's eyes had narrowed, and he was nibbling on his thumbnail in an unconscious show of nerves.

"Please don't bother to deny it," Harkness said in the silence. "Maybe if I said 'Torchwood', that might explain a few things?"

Yes, it did. It looked as if they had a simple jurisdictional issue. Helena was a bit jealous of anyone working for Torchwood; she'd always believed that mankind would one day reach the stars, and here was an organization that actually had proof that there was life out there in the universe.

"Are you saying you believe the artifact to be of extraterrestrial origin?" Wolcott asked, point-blank.

"And you're saying that the item is an artifact of some sort." Harkness didn't phrase it as a question.

"Looks as if we have a problem, boys," Helena said. "We have proof that it's an actual artifact – "

"While I know it's from a certain planet in the Damocles Drift," Harkness answered. "We have one exactly like it in our Archives."

Helena pulled the item from her pocket, careful to keep the handkerchief around it. Neutralizing it would be the ultimate proof, but neither she nor Wolcott had brought any; this had been a seat-of-the-trousers operation, taking the chance that they could get in or out quickly.

The arm band was a heavy gold, with engravings around it that did look like Egyptian hieroglyphics. She raised it nearer to her face, pulling a magnifying glass from an inside pocket of her overcoat. She had a passing familiarity with the era in question, and hoped to be able to solve the issue one way or the other without having to call in back-up.

Her inattention cost them both.

The sound of a scuffle brought Helena back from her perusal of the item in question. In shock she saw Wolcott go down, and in a flurry of movement the artifact was plucked from her hand and Harkness was gone, haring back up the alley, laughter floating back toward them.

Torn between her partner and her duty, Helena chose the only thing she could. She knelt beside Wolcott's prone body, turning him over in order to check for injuries. He roused immediately at her touch, and she was glad to see that he only seemed to have had the wind knocked out of him.

"Damnit!" he cursed, letting her help him to his feet. "I'm sorry, Helena – "

"No apology necessary," she said. To be honest, Helena doubted that they'd have gotten away with the artifact anyway, since Torchwood had been interested. Torchwood had a tendency to walk in and just take what they wanted, no matter the jurisdiction.

Still, they'd have to report this. Let the Regents figure it out…

* * *

><p>Ten years.<p>

They'd been partners for ten years.

Helena watched as the coffin holding the body of her partner was lowered into the ground, anger replacing the grief that she'd been feeling ever since Wolcott had saved her life. It wasn't right, that he should have been killed; he'd been the only man she'd ever really trusted, and he'd helped her so much after her daughter's death. He'd been like her brother, and he'd been taken away from her.

Everything in life that made her happy was always taken away.

The world didn't deserve to have such people as William Wolcott in it.

The world didn't _deserve_ it.

Helena turned away, leaving the gravediggers to do their work. A flash of dark caught her attention, and she looked up…

The man was standing next to one of the gnarled trees. He saw her watching him and nodded once, then in a swirl of black ulster he was gone.

She recognized him as Jack Harkness, the thief from the British Museum.

The thief from Torchwood.

Helena wondered if Wolcott had known him. Her partner had been very private, and if he had been sharing a bed with a man then he would have certainly kept that secret, even though he'd have to have known that she'd have understood.

She hoped he was. Perhaps he'd found a bit of happiness before…

No, no more happiness. The world wasn't worth protecting anymore, when the two most important people in her life were gone from it.

* * *

><p>The Regent's special prison was…well, she couldn't describe it.<p>

Mainly because there wasn't a lot she could see of it.

Every once in a while they would hook her up to the holographic technology that would allow her to interact with the outside world, but she couldn't touch anything, feel anything…it was like existing in hell. Time ceased to have any meaning for her, and she had no idea just how long she'd been incarcerated.

Helena did her best to reform, to prove that she wasn't the same person who'd tried to destroy the world, but nothing seemed to work. Yes, she'd known she'd done the wrong thing, but would there ever be a time when she would be able to feel the sun, or touch a warm body, ever again?

And then, one day, they'd put her within the holographic matrix once more, but instead of finding herself somewhere like Warehouse 13, her mind found itself in a bare room, with only a single chair as its lone furnishing. She recognized Mrs. Frederick, who was standing with a man in a sharp suit, who had his back to her.

"– only doing this as a favor to you, Agent Jones," the Regent was saying. She didn't look happy. "If it wasn't for your link to the Doctor and to Torchwood – "

"I understand, Mrs. Frederick," the man said smoothly, a rich Welsh accent coloring his words. Helena frowned; that voice would have been…if not for the accent…"Now, if you don't mind…"

"We'll be monitoring your conversation," she said darkly. "Just remember that the prisoner is dangerous – "

"Not to me," the man – Agent Jones – replied.

Mrs. Frederick frowned, but left the room. Her visitor shook his head, then turned to face her.

Even though she was simply a hologram in the room, back in her own body Helena's heart clenched painfully.

This man looked exactly like William Wolcott.

He smiled at her. "I know it's a shock," he said soothingly. "But I promise you there's a very logical explanation."

Helena shook her head. "You…you can't be…"

Sadness loomed in Jones' eyes. "It is," he admitted. "Please let me explain."

And he did. He told her his real name was Ianto Jones, and that he'd been born in 1983 in Newport, Wales. That he'd been the son of a would-be tailor who would often push him too hard, until his father had died and Ianto had left home for London. He told her that he'd been recruited for Torchwood – she wasn't surprised that it still existed. He'd loved his job there, and had loved a wonderful woman to whom he'd been engaged.

When he told her about the Battle of Canary Wharf, Helena had mourned for all of those lives. And yet, there was a small part of her that reveled in the destruction of an organization whose hubris had almost brought ruin onto the Earth.

What a change from how she'd once felt…

Ianto Jones went on, describing his fight to save the woman he'd loved, and how it had taken him to another branch of Torchwood, in Cardiff. He regaled her with stories of his time there, and when he'd told her of his lover's death Helena had wished she could have held him, to comfort him for his loss.

He spun tales of cannibals, and fairies, and of amazing alien technology that they'd studied. He introduced his team with his very words, painting them in pictures so vivid that Helena could swear she knew them. Of prickly Owen, and obsessed Suzie, the beautiful genius Toshiko, and the stubborn, headstrong Gwen.

But it was descriptions of his boss that brought back true memories.

Of a man in a dark ulster, running away from a burglary at the British Museum, and of the solemn figure at a gloomy gravesite.

Ianto told her of Jack's curse: immortality. How he'd been with Torchwood for over a century, and how Ianto had seduced him to get a job with Torchwood Cardiff. Helena could hear the regret in his tone at this story.

But, when he began to tell her of his relationship with Jack, Ianto looked happy, and content. She was glad for him as his stories included Jack's exploits, and of his heroism, and his willingness to suffer pain to save others. So many stories, and she was sinking in them, lapping up every word he gave her, holding them close to her heart.

Then came Ianto's death.

He told her he honestly didn't remember it, but that he'd heard that he'd died of an alien virus while saving the Earth's children from drug-addicted slavers. She was confused, and said so; how could he be talking to her now, if he'd died?

That was when the story changed.

He told her of the Rift, and of Syriath, and of how the demon had tried to tempt Jack by pulling a part of him out of time and making him as close to Ianto has she could. The problem was, she'd done the job far too well, and he'd become Ianto in every sense of the word. He had Ianto's memories, his soul…and his love for Jack, and that had been Syriath's undoing. He'd saved his lover, and the world, by trapping Syriath…but he'd been trapped in a closed Rift.

Or so he'd thought.

Instead, Ianto had been blown backward in time, to the instant the Rift had opened in Cardiff. He'd managed to escape, and to make his way to London, where he'd hoped he wouldn't be noticed. It had been several years later that Ianto had discovered that the Rift energy had made him like Jack.

Immortal.

He'd had to wait through the decades to reach a time where he could interact with his friends and family once more. He'd taken on the name William Wolcott, the better to hide his true self. Only he hadn't expected to have been approached by the Regents to work at Warehouse 12.

He looked at her with such sadness when he admitted that his death hadn't stuck, that he'd come back to life hours after he'd managed to save her life. "I blame myself for what happened to you," he said. "I had no idea that my death would somehow affect you like it did, or else I would have found a way to come back…"

She couldn't be angry at him. It had been her own weakness that had sent her down the path to darkness, even though his 'death' and her daughter's had started her down that route.

"That's how you knew Jack, of course," she said, several puzzle pieces sliding into place. "That first time in the alley…you recognized him then."

He nodded. "But I hadn't actually met him yet, so I had to be very careful."

"You and he were lovers."

He blushed. "I couldn't help it. Seeing Jack again, even if it was an earlier version…I shouldn't have, but I did. He approached me about six months after the Museum assignment. We were on and off lovers for years. God, it was so hard not to tell him who I was…"

"He was at the funeral…Wolcott's funeral," she said. Because this wasn't William Wolcott, even though it could be said that they were the same person. There were differences, and Helena still couldn't help but mourn her friend and partner even as she saw him in this man standing before her.

"He told me, after I managed to catch up with him again," Ianto confessed.

"So you did find him again?" Helena asked, hoping he'd found happiness once more.

He nodded. "But then I heard what happened to you, and I had to see you…to make sure you were all right."

Helena shrugged within the holographic matrix, her incorporeal body mirroring the movement. "As well as I can be," she answered. "I keep trying to earn back their trust, but…"

"You know you never will," Ianto said bluntly. "They'll keep you imprisoned for the rest of your natural life, bringing you out when they need your expertise." He was honestly angry on her behalf, and her chest warmed with affection.

'I almost destroyed the world," she confessed. "They have a right to do whatever they want with me."

"That's bollocks, Helena," he snapped. "There's such a thing as forgiveness, and I think you've bloody well earned that."

It felt wonderful for someone to care about her once more. Yes, Myka cared, but not like this. This was the reason she'd always trusted him; that he was loyal to his friends, and it was gratifying that after so long he still felt that way about her.

'There's nothing that can be done," she answered.

A sly look crept across her former partner's face.

And suddenly, Helena was back in the holographic chamber, being manhandled from the machine. "I hope you're packed," a very familiar voice exclaimed. Arms wrapped around her, and the stark surroundings changed…

A rough wrenching sensation crashed through her, and Helena swayed. The same arms that had pulled her from the equipment held her steady, and she looked up into a familiar pair of laughing blue eyes.

"Welcome aboard," Jack Harkness said, letting her go. "I hope you didn't mind being kidnapped from your prison, but Ianto and I just couldn't leave you in there."

Helena opened her mouth to reply, then noticed her surroundings. Tall tree-like columns of what resembled coral arched overhead, supporting a ceiling the exact color of a tropical sea. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the large central console in the middle of the room, and her fingers itched to run themselves over the controls on it. A spun glass tube ran up to the ceiling from the console, and a bubble-like construct was suspended within. There were stairs leading up from what had to be some sort of control deck, and deeper into wherever she'd found herself.

"What is this place?" she asked, in awe.

"This is mine and Ianto's TARDIS," Jack explained. "It means Time and Relative Dimension in Space. We grew it…together, so I guess this means she's our daughter in some respects."

"A time machine?" Helena couldn't believe it. Certainly she'd built her own at one point, but this…

She could feel something brushing at her mind, and a soft singing just at the edge of thought. Helena couldn't keep the huge grin from spreading across her face. "She's alive…I can feel her!"

"As soon as Ianto shows up, we'll give you the tour," Jack promised. "This is our home…and we're hoping you decide you'd like to travel with us."

She looked at Jack. The man hadn't really changed all that much in the years since she'd first met him; his eyes were older, though, radiating knowledge that people simply shouldn't have.

Helena was being offered something she'd never thought possible: her freedom, and the stars. It was a miracle, pure and simple.

"How did you find me?" she asked, making her way toward the console. She ran her fingertips over it, and she could feel the TARDIS reacting to her touch.

"We traced the signal being beamed to the holographic projector," Jack answered. He was simply watching her, a soft smile on his handsome features. "It took a bit of time, but I was able to pinpoint your exact position as Ianto talked to you. Then I simply teleported to your position, grabbed you, and teleported out. We couldn't risk taking the TARDIS in."

Helena could understand. She wouldn't want this magnificent creature to fall into the hands of anyone. "How long before Ianto gets back?"

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," Ianto's Welsh voice answered, laughter lacing it. "I teleported out as soon as I knew Jack had you. I didn't want to leave without you."

She turned to see him standing before two large doors. He was grinning, and Helena returned it, running up to him and grabbing him into a fierce hug. "Thank you so much," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

"I'm glad you're all right," he whispered into her hair. "I've missed you, Helena."

"I've missed you too, Wooley." She pulled back, laughing, dashing the tears from her eyes. "Although I don't think I can call you that anymore can I?"

He rolled his eyes. "You can call me whatever you want."

"Does this mean I can call you Yan?" Jack piped up, sounding amused.

Ianto turned to look at him, and Helena let herself be maneuvered so she was tucked into his side. She'd never been particularly tactile, but this was far too nice to give up anytime soon. "Only if you want to be banned from sex for the foreseeable future," he snarked.

Jack pouted.

Helena laughed.

"Welcome home, Helena," Ianto said, tightening his arm around her.

She smiled up at him. "Thank you for finding me."

"Always," Ianto promised.

And she believed him.


End file.
